Not Too Wisely, But Too Well
by The Avid Musician
Summary: Another thief joins Danny's dysfunctional family of crime like the survivor of a battle. Her scars are are fresh, leaving her jaded and cynical, all because she was loved not too wisely but too well. OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ocean's 11, 12, 13, etc.**

**Chapter One  
**

_"Then must you speak of one that lov'd not wisely but too well" -Shakespeare_**  
**

"Yen makes nine. Nine oughta do it. Don't you think?" Danny said, staring at the screen.

Rusty sipped his drink but made no other response.

"You think we need one more?" Danny asked. The silence made his assent obvious. "You think we need one more." After several more seconds of waiting, Danny said, "Alright. We'll get one more."

"Two. Pick pocket and a Rachel Meier," Rusty said, picking his head up from his arms.

Danny looked suspiciously at Rusty and asked, "Where's Moira?"

"Oxford."

"Not London?" he asked in surprise.

"Ex-boyfriend kicked her out. He lived in Soho," Rusty explained, sounding at the same time thrilled and fuming.

"Lived?" Danny asked, catching the hint.

"Arrested the day after she left on fraud charges," Rusty said with an unsympathetic smile.

"Sounds like Moira," Ocean said with a similar smile.

"Vindictive?" he suggested.

"Yeah. Is she running a job?" Both of them knew that Moira kept herself busy with all sorts of schemes and plans. It was rare that both of them had the opportunity to work with her at the same time.

"Acting," Rusty said bluntly.

"In what?" Danny asked, knowing this could make all the difference.

"_Twelfth Night."_

"She never could resist Shakespeare." Fondness was evident in Danny's voice. Then again, both of the two men had known Moira for years.

"She hates comedies. She'll come," Rusty said confidently, smiling at the idea of seeing the tiny redhead again.

"Why do you want her to come?" Danny asked bluntly. At Rusty's shrug, Danny shook his head in frustration. "Still?" he asked in exasperation.

"Don't tell the others," Rusty warned.

"They'll find out when you stare at her and follow her around," Danny reminded sternly.

"I don't stare anymore," Rusty protested.

Danny gave him a sceptical look. When last he had observed the two even in the same room, Rusty hardly moved his eyes from her.

"Only a little," Rusty admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
"Why didn't you ever tell her?"

Rusty gave him a long look before shrugging.

"Right. The mystery boyfriend," Danny said in irritated acceptance.

**MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA**

Moira walked out of the New Theatre Oxford, buttoning her long, black coat to shield her from the cold mist that hung around the city. Dark shapes passed her on the pavement as she crossed Worcester Street to Worcester College, as insubstantial as wraiths in the heavy fog surrounding the brick buildings. As she started down the street, a large shape fell into step beside her. "How's the play coming?" a distinctly American-accented and masculine voice asked.

"Bugger!" she exclaimed, nearly falling over in surprise. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her upright. "You barmy arsehole!" Moira hissed, pulling him from the gate of Worcester College to follow the canal.

"_Twelfth Night_, right?" Rusty asked, seemingly unaffected by her reaction to him.

"Yes. Why?" she asked flatly.

"You hate comedy, Moira. Why do this?" Rusty asked, attempting to be understanding. His tone made him sound far more critical than he had hoped.

"I'm staying busy," she hissed, flipping a lock of her red hair over her leather-enclosed shoulder.

"Until another job?" Rusty asked.

"Yes, actually. Have an offer? You know it'll have to be big to tempt me," Moira said, leading the way around the shoreline of Worcester College Lake along the footpath.

"Eight figures."

"Total or-"

"Each," he said, smiling once he knew she could not see him.

Moira stopped and turned to stare at Rusty questioningly, a single eyebrow raised.

"Big enough?" Rusty asked.

"What is the job?" Moira asked with a sigh, going to lean against a nearby tree.

"Casinos," he said, knowing that would gain her curiosity more than the payout would. After all, she was no stranger to high paying jobs.

"More than one?" Moira asked disbelievingly. She stubbornly kept her head from turning to look at him.

Rusty held up three fingers, careful to keep his expression neutral. If he were to show too much interest, she would balk in an instant, not that he knew why.

"Which?" Moira demanded.

"The Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand," Rusty listed, keeping his eyes trained on her pallid, lean face.

"Aren't those-" she began, fractionally lifting her head from its place against the trunk of the ancient tree.

"Terry Benedict's, yes," he confirmed.

"What is your grudge against him?" Moira asked suspiciously, opening her eyes to peer at him. Rusty attempted to avoid looking straight into her eyes for fear of becoming distracted once again.

"Nothing," he said simply.

"Don't even try that, Rusty Ryan. I know you better than that. Is this Danny's brainchild?" Moira said harshly, pushing away from the old oak tree. Her daunting glare was trained on him.

"Yes," he admitted.

"You're a nutter," Moira said, shaking her head.

"We can do this, Moira, but I-we need you," Rusty said, catching himself just short of revealing what she by now almost certainly suspected.

Moira sighed and asked, "Will the Malloys be there?"

"Yes," Rusty said, knowing what would come next.

"Sod off, Duffer," Moira said bluntly, walking away from him toward the cricket fields.

"You can save the Playhouse," Rusty called, not moving.

Moira froze. Her head dropped seemingly of its own accord only for her to turn back to him and ask, "When?"

Rusty smiled and held up a plane ticket. He could hear her muttering under her breath as she walked back and snatched the ticket from his hand. Glancing at the date, Moira asked, "Tomorrow?"

"Yep," Rusty said with a smile, walking back along the lake. Moira watched him walk away, shaking her head at his briefness.

"Basher'll be there," Rusty called, not slacking his pace. Internally, he hated having to use that to entice her.

Moira chuckled and said under her breath, "Another jaunt across the pond."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A taxi pulled up in front of a large home in Las Vegas. A few cars were already parked on the street near it. Moira sighed and stepped out after paying the driver. As he drove off, she stepped up to the door and rang the bell. As she waited, she pulled out her pocket watch from the pocket of her vest. She was only a few minutes late, hardly enough to matter.

Less than a minute later, Reuben answered the door, cigar in hand. "You look like you stepped out of the 20s, Moira," he welcomed with a nod.

"Reuben," she said in return, stepping inside and taking off the item in question: a black cloche hat with a medium sized satin bow on the side. "I happen to like this hat."

"I see you're as English as ever," he commented, gesturing to her outfit. Even in the desert, Moira was wearing a white, wing collar shirt with a grey waistcoat over it. Her pocket watch chain shone over the dark grey fabric. She wore a neat, red bowtie around her neck. She also wore a black pencil skirt and heels reminiscent of Oxford shoes.

"Never. I'm a Scotsman to the bone," she returned, slipping into the accent she had attempted to hide for so long.

"Everyone's out back."

"Thank you," she said as she turned and strode out to meet the others.

Reuben's home, as she had expected, blended modern and casual as professionally as a casino. This was no surprise. Over the years, Reuben had picked up the style of the casino he owned, that is until Terry Benedict bankrupted it and bought it. Within a minute, she had reached the back. Reuben, as most rich people living near Las Vegas, had a pool, and quite a large one at that. A group of mostly smartly dressed people were gathered around a table near the pool, apparently making light conversation.

The first of these to notice her arrival was a tall, black man in a tan jacket. "Moira! I hardly recognized you, Luv!" he said with a bright smile, walking over to hug her.

"'Ello, Basher. Miss me?" she asked before kissing his cheek.

"Always, Darling," he said, breaking away to look her over.

"Thin as always, you lucky bugger," Basher said jokingly.

"Thick as ever, mate," she returned, mimicking his thicker accent.

"Come on over and get a drink, Mate. It'll help with the jetlag," he said, guiding her over to the table. Now, she could see that it was covered with a number of types of alcohol, cigarettes, cigars, and more.

"Ah! Woe is me that never prepared is that most wonderful of nectars," Moira lamented, shaking her head as she grasped a glass and poured herself half a glass of red wine.

"Yeah, Reuben never thinks to brew some tea."

"At least there's good wine," Moira said after taking a sip.

Before Basher could speak, Danny walked out of the house and said, "Gentlemen, welcome to Las Vegas."

"Moira's here, you tosser," Basher snapped quickly.

"Oh. Well, everybody eaten? Good. Everybody sober? Close enough. All right, before we get started, nobody's on the line here, yet. What I'm about to propose to you is both highly lucrative and highly dangerous. If that doesn't seem like your particular brand of vodka, help yourself to as much food as you'd like and have a safe journey. No hard feelings. Otherwise, come with me," Danny said before turning and walking into the house.

"Come on, Luv," Basher said, offering her his arm as Moira snatched a devilled egg and her wine, popping the former into her mouth quickly.

Rusty followed them, hoping to get a seat beside her. No such luck. Basher and Moira sat side-by-side on a sofa. Rusty fought back disappointment as Basher wrapped an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to lean her head against him. Rusty walked over to sit on the opposite arm of the sofa, folding his arms over his chest as he did. He barely stopped himself from staring Moira.

Once everyone was settled, Danny said, "Gentlemen and Moira, the 3000 block of Las Vegas Boulevard, otherwise known as the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand. Together, they are three of the most profitable casinos in Las Vegas." As he spoke, there was an image on Reuben's very large flat-screen showing a zoomed in map of Vegas with the three casinos in question labelled.

At his cue, Turk changed the picture on the screen to a set of blueprints. "This is the vault of the Bellagio. It's located beneath the strip, beneath 200 feet of solid earth. It safeguards every dime that passes through each of the three casinos above it. We're gonna rob it."

"Smash and grab job, huh?" a youngster, actually most likely in his twenties, said from the far end of the room.

"Slightly more complicated than that," Rusty said as the rest of the group turned to look at the cheeky blighter.

"Well, yeah," he responded ineloquently.

"Who's the tosser?" Moira whispered to Basher.

As Basher shrugged, Rusty said quietly, "He's Bobby Caldwell's kid."

"Really?" she asked in disbelief.

Rusty nodded, enjoying being able to look into her eyes.

"This is courtesy of Frank Catton, new blackjack dealer at the Bellagio," Danny continued, glancing at the man, who then nodded in recognition.

"Okay, bad news first: this place houses a security system that rivals most nuclear missile silos. First, we have to get within the casino cages, which anybody'll tell you takes more than a smile. Next, through these doors, each of which requires a different six-digit code changed every twelve hours. Past those lies the elevator. This is where it gets tricky. The elevator won't move without authorized fingerprint identification-"

"Which we can't fake," Rusty interrupted.

"And vocal confirmation from both the security system within the Bellagio and the vault below-"

"Which we won't get."

"Furthermore, the elevator shaft is rigged with motion detectors-"

"Meaning if we were to manually override the lid, the shaft's exit would lock down automatically, and we'd be trapped."

"Now, once we get down the shaft, though, then it's a piece of cake. Just two more guards with Uzis and the most elaborate vault door conceived by man. Any questions?"

A small Chinese man spoke a short sentence in his native language, gesturing as he did.

"No. Tunnelling is out. There are sensors monitoring the ground a hundred yards in every direction. If a groundhog were to nest there, they'd know about it," Rusty answered quickly.

"Anyone else?" Danny asked.

"You said something about good news?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah. The Nevada Gaming Commission stipulates that a casino must hold in reserve enough cash to cover every chip in play on its floor. That means on a weekday, by law, it has to carry anything from sixty to seventy million dollars worth in cash and coin. On the weekend, between eighty and ninety million. On a fight night, like the one two weeks from tonight, the night we're gonna rob it, 150 million without breakin' a sweat."

"Now there are eleven of us, each with an equal share. You do the math."

Most of them did. Someone whistled. "Exactly," Rusty said, pointing to them.

"You're a nutter," Moira said, laying her head back against the sofa.

Linus looked over at the woman, only actually looking at her now. She had the aloof yet intelligent air of Athena herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

That evening, Rusty stared across the room at Moira from his place on the sofa. She and Basher were spooning on the opposite sofa, looking very much like lovers, or siblings as he so hoped.

It was times like these that had Rusty wishing that he had been the one to meet Moira first. Basher had met her less than a month after she had left her rather cosy training with an unknown thief she refused to identify. To this day, not a single one of their group knew who had trained her, but they had trained her well. She was the most skilled cat burglar and con woman with which he had every worked.

Rusty, on the other hand, had met the now sleeping woman two years after that particular time in her life. At that point, she was still innocent, or at least somewhat naive. She had actually been rather similar to how Linus acted now, save that she was far more confident in her abilities than he.

Perhaps, if he had been the first of their group to meet her, he would not be so conflicted. It could be him there with his arms wrapped around her lithe body.

With a discontented sigh, Rusty closed his eyes and attempted to surrender to sleep. It was not forthcoming.

**MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA-MOIRA**

"Hey, Moira!" Frank called from the door.

"What?" she yelled from her room.

"You comin' or not?"

"Just a minute!"

It was, in fact, only seconds later that Moira emerged and instantly caught the attention of every man in the room. She wore a very short, gold sequin dress that showed off her body in a way that none of them could ignore. Her flaming red hair was covered with a blond wig. At least it was obvious now why she was going for the van purchasing: she could flirt shamelessly like a bimbo.

"All right, Boys. Enough staring. I need to go get the vans," Moira said with a smile and a toss of her blonde wig. She was clearly acting as she turned back from the door and asked, "Coming, Boys?"

The Malloy twins practically ran after her. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at this as she turned to the hallway, hoping her dress was long enough to cover her arse.

"Oi, Frank!" Basher called from the sofa.

"Right," the man said, suddenly remembering that he, too, was required for this.

As she slipped into the passenger seat of the car, she called to the Malloys, "No staring or arguing or I _will_ hurt you. Got it?"

They both nodded vigorously as Frank chuckled. "You always so violent?" he asked as he slid into the driver's seat.

"No. Only with annoying people," she answered with a smirk.

When they reached the dealership, the Malloys instantly began to fool around with one of the white vans in the lot. In the meantime, Moira and Frank walked into the building. A middle aged man noticed them almost immediately and hurried to meet them. "Can I help you?" he asked, sounding very much like the traditional car salesman.

"Yes. What is the price on one of the vans you have out there?" Frank asked instantly.

"Nineteen, five."

"Really? Isn't there some kind of sale?" Moira asked in a sensual voice as she leaned forward. She sounded very much as though she knew nothing about cars in general.

"Yes, certainly. That would bring it down to...uh...eighteen..." the salesman said, staring fixedly at her rather large amount of cleavage showing over the top of the short, gold dress.

She looked up at him through her lashes, stepping forward to touch his chest softly. "Oh, such a _strong_ man! I'm sure such a big boy like you could lower the price anymore?" she asked, seducing him with her voice.

"...Y-yes...uh...seventeen?..." he attempted to say as his bodily reactions halted his thought process.

"Thank you so much!" she said lowly, letting her eyes sparkle as she smiled up at him. She turned to Frank and asked, "You can finish, can't you, Darling?" She ran a hand lightly over Frank's shoulder as she spoke.

"Yeah..." he said, stepping forward to shake hands with the man.

Moira walked out of the building back to the Malloys, swaying her hips as she went and trying to make her disgust less apparent.

"How'd it go?" Turk asked, spotting her.

"I talked him down to seventeen. Frank'll convince him to lower it a little farther, and then we can go back," Moira said bluntly, dropping the persona.

"You look hot," Virgil blurted suddenly.

Moira rolled her eyes and said sardonically, "Yes, that's _exactly_ what I wanted to hear right now." Her eyes flashed in anger as she leaned against the car and pulled her skirt down a little.

Only minutes later, Frank walked out with a big smile on his face. "How much?" Moira asked bluntly as he strutted over to them.

"Fifteen apiece, and we can take 'em now," he said happily, walking toward one of the vans.

Virgil hurried to the other van as Moira pushed herself away from the car. Turk walked to her side and asked, "Do you wanna drive back?"

Moira raised one of her eyebrows and said point blank, "I'm British, Mate. We drive on the _left_ side of the street. Do you really think it's such a good idea for me to drive _here_?"

"Right..." Turk sputtered, hurrying around the car to the driver's seat.

As Moira settled into her seat, she turned to Turk and said, "Wake me when we get back."

"Okay..." Turk said awkwardly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: As usual, I do not own Ocean's 11, Ocean's 12, or Ocean's 13. If I did, I would be rich.**

Chapter Four

"Eh, Bash! Come help me get out of this bloody dress!" Moira called as she charged into the suite the team shared, pulling off her four inch heels as she did.

"Sorry, Moi. Gotta go ge' a new transistor," the other Brit said apologetically, kissing her cheek as he slipped past her.

Moira caught his arm quickly and implored him, "Please, Bash." Her expression clearly said _I need your help and support, my friend._

"I'll help," Linus offered sheepishly from his seat on the couch.

"Oi, Rusty! Help her," Basher commanded, catching Rusty's attention from where he sat playing solitaire. Linus froze, glancing at the far more confident man.

Moira looked at him sceptically as she walked past him to the room she and Basher shared. Rusty gave the young one a vexed look as he followed Moira into her room silently, closing the door behind him.

As she heard the door close, Moira turned, throwing the wig on her bed. "Linus, you didn't- Oh...Well, unzip me." She turned, offering her back to him. The sequined dress only came half way up her back, but the top of the zipper rested squarely on the part of the back that she could not reach.

Rusty walked over to her and gently placed one hand on the top of her dress. That tan, warm hand gently caressed her spine as he pulled the zipper down to the base of her spine. He slid his arms around her and asked gently, "What's wrong?"

Moira crossed her arms to grasp his hands tightly. She was shaking. "Right before getting into this ghastly dress, I made a call to my great uncle. I haven't talked to any of my family save him and my father in ten years. It turns out, my entire family is dead save my father."

"When did they die?" Rusty asked gently, guiding her over to sit on the bed beside him.

"Five years ago. Their boat sank; they didn't have a chance," she admitted, turning to press her face into his chest. No matter how annoyed or angry she was with him, she had known him for too long not to take comfort when he offered it.

"And he never told you. Why now?" Rusty said, realizing why she was upset. After all, she obviously hadn't cared for any of her family save her great uncle.

"Because he died an hour later," she said bluntly.

Only now did Rusty understand fully what was so distressing for her. Her only remaining family was her dad. If she ever wished to reconcile with any of them, she could not.

"And how are you?" he asked gently.

"I'm glad my mother is dead. I know I shouldn't be, but she was a disgusting, conceited, shallow bitch that leeched my father's money. My father...he cared for me, but he sent me off to a boarding school early on to protect me from my mother," she explained before attempting to school her face back into her very British mask of indifference.

"Will you be okay?" Rusty asked cautiously, confused at her apparent lack of grief. Instead, she appeared at the same time shocked and pleased.

"I'll be fine," she said dismissively, suddenly pushing away from him to stand fully.

Rusty sighed and turned to leave as Moira slipped her stilettos off her feet, shrinking her down to a mere 5'2".

"Rusty," Moira called, turning to look at him sadly as she held the front of her dress up. He could not help but turn back to look at her, eyes resigned despite seeing much more of her slim body than normal.

"Thank you," she said honestly with a sad smile.

He nodded and left, closing the door silently behind him.


End file.
